The Language of Flowers
by PRAUS
Summary: A/U: "Lizzie, look at me," Gilbert says quietly. She does. And Gilbert's brow furrows. He's used to looking at her and reading the story in her eyes. But now all he can see is nothing. Her eyes are cold, distant. "You…you know how…" she says, her voice a whisper, "how Roderich's parents are...There was nothing else that I could do." PrussiaXHungary


_**A/N **__In the language of flowers, a daisy symbolizes innocence, pure love, "I'll never tell," quiet strength and purity_

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January.

The day after New Year's. Resolutions made and forgotten.

His phone rings. It's dark. He can tell through closed eyelids. But whether it's morning or night, he doesn't know. He thinks for a moment he is dreaming. Until it sounds again.

"…Hullo?" he says, voice heavy with sleep. His eyes are still screwed shut and his mouth feels dry, cottony.

There is a pause, followed by some static, and Gilbert considers hanging up – until a high, breathy voice answers: "H-hey."

Gilbert rubs his eyes, not believing who is on the other line. "L-Liz?"

"Yeah," she breathes.

"What – what time is it?" He slowly pushes himself up, eyes squinting open to search for his clock.

"…Um, just – just after six, I think?"

"In the morning!?" His voice is hoarse as his eyes pop open, blinking away sleep.

"…Yeah."

"Lizzie," Gilbert huffs, falling back on his pillows, "_why_ are you callin' me at six in the morning?"

"Um…well, I…." She starts then stops. The break in her words filled with hissing static. "I-I have…an appointment. This morning. And, um, I was – was wondering if you'd – if you'd take me."

Gilbert squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing them again, unsure if he'd heard her right.

"You…you want _me_ to take you? What about – what about Roderich? Where's he?"

"He's, uh, still asleep. And, you know, he's taking his parents to the airport a-around seven-thirty, so, I mean, he can't do it and – "

"I got work, Liz."

"…Well, you could – you could call out. Or something."

"Liz, I – "

"Please, Gilbert. I just…I just really need someone there. With me."

"But why me? We haven't spoken since – "

"You're my best friend, Gil. And I've been…God, I've been so stupid!"

Her voice breaks and it sounds like she's about to cry.

"All right!" Gilbert says hastily, not wanting to hear her like this. "Okay. I'll – I'll come get you. What…what time?"

There is a pause before she answers. Gilbert can hear her give a little sniff. He nervously chews the end of a cuticle.

"…Um, eight – eight o'clock would work," Liz says.

" 'Kay. See you at eight."

Gilbert hangs up his phone, pressing the heels of his hands into his tired eyes.

He gets up, showers, sets the coffee pot, phones his boss and tells him he's sick. It's money he really can't afford to lose, but, on the other hand, Liz calling him like that….

It's odd.

He hasn't spoken to her since the summer. Since her and Roderich's engagement party. When he had had too many bourbon and colas and was told to leave by Liz and her prissy pianist fiancé….

Gilbert pours himself a cup of black coffee and waits, not wanting to think about it.

At seven-thirty he goes down to his car. Outside is cold and grey. Just like the day before that. And the day before that. The only hint that it's morning is the color of the clouds – a light, steely grey. The air smells like those clouds. Like cold metal.

Gilbert shivers. The jacket he wears is inadequate, but it's the only one he has. He pulls a pair of gloves out of one of the pockets and jerks them over his cold hands.

The stairs leading down from his apartment are frosted over and slick. His car's windows are covered in a thin layer of ice. Gilbert curses under his breath, the air rising from his mouth in puffs of condensation. He unlocks the door, grabs the ice scraper, and sets to work, his fingers growing numb in too thin gloves. He won't try the defroster. He can't remember the last time his car's heat worked properly.

Once his windows are clear enough, he heads for Liz and Roderich's place, cracking the driver's side window and lighting a cigarette.

Liz and Roderich have an apartment a few blocks from their university's campus. In one of those fancy apartment complexes, just for students, with all the newest and best amenities. Roderich's parents had paid for it. Roderich and Liz live there rent-free. Gilbert had lived there too, for a while, even though he didn't go to the college. Liz had let him stay until he could get back on his feet financially….

Liz's apartment is not far from Gilbert's place. He's only just finishing his cigarette by the time he pulls into a parking space in front of her building. He flicks it out of the window, stamping it out when he opens the car door. He walks up to the entrance, about to dial the entry code – not having an access card – when he sees Liz waiting in the lobby. She walks out to meet him, her movements strangely stiff. But that could just be the cold, Gilbert thinks.

"Where we goin'?" Gilbert asks when they get back in his car.

"You'll see. Just – when you leave here, hang a left. Like you would to go downtown."

"Okay."

Gilbert cranks the engine and fiddles with the heat controls – hoping, maybe, it will work for her. But it doesn't. Only cold air continues to blow.

"I'm sorry," Gilbert says about the heat.

"It's fine. It doesn't matter."

Gilbert cracks his window and lights another cigarette.

Liz guides him through downtown. They are almost on the other side of the city. She directs him down a street and then into a parking lot adjacent to a brick building that looks like it dated from the 1960s.

When Gilbert sees the building, he swallows hard and asks: "Liz. What're we doin' here?"

Liz only frowns, looking at her hands folded in her lap.

"Liz?" Gilbert tries again, his breath rising in the cold air. He smacks the air vents in irritation. Liz doesn't even flinch. She fiddles with the ring on her left hand. The one Roderich gave her.

"Lizzie, look at me," Gilbert says quietly.

She does.

And Gilbert's brow furrows. He's used to looking at her and reading the story in her eyes. He's used to looking at her and seeing Liz – Elizaveta – the girl he grew up with – the girl he laughed with – the girl who beat him up more times than he could count. He's used to seeing his best friend looking back at him….

But now all he can see is nothing. Her eyes are cold, distant.

Liz swallows and looks straight ahead, at the building facing them. Gilbert does the same.

"You…you know how…" she says, her voice a whisper, "how Roderich's parents are." She clears her throat and looks back down at her hands. "You know what they'd…what they'd say. We're not – not married – yet. A-and still in school. There was nothing else…that I could do."

Gilbert wonders, as his eyes stare unfocused at the brick wall in front of them, if she's trying to convince herself or him or both.

He knows better than to ask if she's told Roderich. He already knows the answer from her words – there was nothing else _she_ could do.

Gilbert breathes a deep sigh. His hands are clutched tightly around the steering wheel still.

"Okay Liz," he nods. For some bizarre reason. He nods.

Gilbert puts the car in park, taking his key out of the ignition. He feels, oddly, like he should open her door for her. But before he can act on that impulse, Liz has already stepped out onto the cracked pavement and is heading for the entrance.

The waiting room is as outdated as the rest of the building. The chairs are hard, the fake green leather upholstery cracked from decades of use. The wallpaper has yellowed and curled at the seams. The whole place smells musty like old books and feels just as lifeless. Someone coughs in the corner, the sound muffled by the dead air.

The receptionist's desk is at the far end, cut off from the rest of the waiting room by sliding glass windows. Potted plants languish on the desk, not doing much to improve the mood.

Liz checks in. And then she and Gilbert wait.

Liz looks at her hands. Gilbert leans forward, nervous, elbows resting on his knees. Someone coughs again. But all Gilbert can do is stare blankly ahead.

After what seems an eternity, Liz's name is called. Gilbert straightens his back, like he's about to stand up, to go with her. But a small gesture from Liz tells him to stay there.

He watches her disappear through a door. He fidgets with his hands a moment, chewing a cuticle, before jumping up and going outside. He leans against the back of his car and lights a cigarette. The cold makes it hard to tell what's smoke and what's breath. When it's done, he grinds it into the pavement with the toe of his shoe and promptly lights another one, looking nervously around.

He spots a shop on the corner. A florist shop. Small, shabby, and outdated, like the buildings surrounding it.

Gilbert wonders if he should get her some flowers. Would they be appropriate? For something like this? He doesn't know. But he sure as hell does not want to stand outside, freezing his ass off in a parking lot – nor does he want to go back in to that waiting room.

Gilbert finishes his cigarette. He shoves his hands in his coat pockets, hunching his shoulders against the cold, and walks down to the florist's.

A bell rings when he enters the shop. The florist looks up, in mild surprise, from pruning dead leaves off some roses. Gilbert knows it's early still. He tries to smile, tries not to look guilty, as he browses the flowers in the case.

Roses are absolutely out of the question. Only Roderich is allowed to give her those. It's too early for tulips – and they're expensive, anyway. Gilbert has always loved lilies, especially calla lilies, but too many people associate them with death and funerals. Definitely not appropriate.

The flowers in the last case look like they belong out in an open field and not stuck behind glass. They are all wild. And when he sees them, he knows which one he will get for her.

He buys her a daisy – just one – and places it on her seat in the car.

He goes back in the waiting room and sits.

She comes out a short while later. He goes to put his arm around her, but it's clear from her posture, she does not want to be touched. Instead Gilbert walks with her out the car, opening her door for her. She is about to step in when she notices the flower on her seat. She looks at it a moment, picks it up, and slowly turns to Gilbert.

Her brow knits together and what is in her look, Gilbert cannot guess. Confusion? Shame? Hurt? Tears well in her eyes and he begins to panic. He opens his mouth to explain, even though he can't explain, but is stopped by the gentle brush of her lips on his cheek.

She gets in the car, drawing the buckle across her. Gilbert does the same and cranks the engine. The heater kicks on, blowing its cold air. Gilbert turns it off and sits for a moment, staring at the brick wall in front of them. Liz does the same, the daisy held delicately in her empty lap.

Gilbert reaches for her hand, giving it a squeeze. _You're going to be okay, Liz. I'm here for you._

She squeezes it back. _I know._


End file.
